Now I Lay Thee Down To Sleep
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: What is it you really want?" Maggie whispered, unafraid to speak. She knew who he was, and the murderer suddenly found it hard to breathe. The silent infant he had never known was suddenly the young girl in the backseat who was...just like him.


Now I Lay Thee Down To Sleep

Summary: "What is it you really want?" Maggie whispered, unafraid to speak. She knew who he was, and the murderer suddenly found it hard to breathe. The infant he had never known was suddenly a quiet young lady that could highlight the question that bothered him for years.

English Hurt/Comfort/Romance Rated: T Chapters:1 Words: Sideshow Bob & Maggie S.

**a/n: **I don't know why I thought of this. It was like trying to draw marbles or slips of paper out of a hat, deciding which Simpson child to have a story with Sideshow Bob. But I finally chose Maggie, since she never had true interaction with the murderer. So, a one-shot, to take a soft, depressing break from the comedy of "Dove On The Rocks." Sound strange? Yes. Leave a review.

In the dead of night, a figure darted among the shadows of 742 Evergreen Terrace, but otherwise, all was tranquil, with only a breeze that wound through the trees, rustling the auburn autumn leaves yet to release their branch and die. The Flanders household, an admittedly nicer abode sitting squarely adjacent to 742, was hushed, the bespectacled man asleep in a queen-sized bed and his two children singing hymns in their sleep (oh, bless their hearts.)

Homer and Marge Simpson had disengaged an hour of making love (let's not go into detail), nestled together like young bluebirds snuggling to keep warm in their roost. Down the hall, Bart Simpson was buried beneath the blankets, a cell phone in one hand, a greasy slice of pizza in the other, snoring stridently enough to wake the dead. His sister, Lisa Simpson, had fallen asleep reading a textbook, "Quantum Physics Made Difficult" resting on her chest, rising and falling with every long inhale and exhale.

One Simpson could not sleep, though, and she sat huddled in the safety of her cyan armchair, athwart from her large window. Maggie knew better then to be up at midnight, but her three hours swaddled in covers had been spent staring at the ceiling, and she needed a change of position. Maggie got up, holding onto her stuffed rabbit; a gift from her father at a very young age, she clung to it for security, not that she would ever confess this to her friends.

Approaching the window, Maggie set her rabbit on the sill, staring up at the sky. Normally, her galaxy would be filled with brilliant constellations, but tonight, dark swirling clouds masked the dazzling stars she so dearly depended on. Crestfallen, Maggie unlocked her window and lifted it, letting the chilly wind into her bedroom, tawny leaves gliding gracefully like pixies over her sketches pinned on the walls. This cheered her immensely, and Maggie swayed to the rhythm of the trees knocking against the aluminum siding of her home.

Disparate to Bart's often accusations that she was turning "hippie", Maggie embraced the creative side of herself. Nature was a gorgeous, glittering jem in her life, as was her art, and Maggie often tried to connect herself with animals, plant life, and astronomical matter. She reached up, scooping the leaves in her hands, setting them free back out into the night. To her, foliage was just as alive as humans or animals.

_What a nature-freak, _the cloaked stranger thought to himself with the roll of his large eyes, brushing his dreadlocks back under his hood, _she even left her window open. _Rocking back and forth on his heels, keeping constant alertness of his surroundings (when you break out of prison, you cart a sense of alarm), he waited edgily for the girl to disappear from view, retreating back to bed.

Maggie yawned, unclipping the cerulean, bow-shaped barrette, glimpsing at her reflection in the mirror painted navy at the corners. Her blonde hair fell to her shoulders in slight waves with pointier ends then her older sister, Lisa. Maggie tucked her toy into her arms, climbing back on her mattress and preparing to ensue in another hour of blind nothingness before succumbing to sleep.

The intruder ascended the oak tree planted abutting the young girl's window, grasping thick branches to hoist himself up. In the shafts of moonlight that could escape the clouds, a knife tied to his belt could be seen (if you happened to be standing beneath him.) Finally, legs wrapped around the largest brushwood, he peeked into the gaping window, finding her laying opposite to him, yet not asleep. Victory laughs climbed his throat, but he swallowed them without a drop of humility, heaving himself into her room.

Maggie heard a hefty pair of feet drop to the floor, and she stiffened, frozen in terror. Shifting in bed, holding her rabbit to her chest, Maggie slowly turned her up, to find a tall man with dark red dreadlocks, wrinkles around his eyes, and a glinting blade held tight in his fist. "Don't worry, innocent baby Maggie," Robert Terwillger cooed, seizing the child and pressing the razor to her throat. "You'll be all right."

At least she was still clutching her rabbit by the floppy ears.

:::::

Sideshow Bob slid Maggie into the backseat of his shifty, black van, and turned the ignition, driving down the street. Maggie stayed curled in a seat, pausing to see if she was terrified: she was not, for she remembered this man. Sideshow Bob, the man who had threatened to kill her brother (then family) countless times. He had left the Simpsons alone for seven years, and Maggie still had flashes of him, his face, his malicious cackle, his English accent that would've sounded so pleasant in another's throat.

"Why did you take me?" Maggie questioned, keeping her tone strong, despite her lingering fear. "I thought you were after my brother. And why do you kidnap me when you haven't been heard from in seven years? How dare you break out of prison!"

"Quiet, you ask too many questions," Sideshow Bob snapped irritably, turning off of Evergreen Terrace. Maggie inhaled deeply, but exhaled shallowly, running her pointer finger obsessively over the rabbit's velvet fur. Maybe he should've stolen a Simpson kid that wasn't so inquisitive…"I took you because your father would do 'anything for his precious Maggie.' Oh, wait a minute, that's right-they don't care!"

_Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. Stick and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me. _Maggie continued to chant this in her mind, attempting to block his word's out. _He's wrong, he's wrong, my family loves me, my family loves me!_

"You're the unappreciated youngest child. Bart is the rebel, getting in trouble and earning your parents' bad attention. Lisa is the brain, always winning awards and achieving heights none thought possible. And what are you? Oh, correct, Margaret Simpson, nature freak! Always left sitting at the end of the table just like when you were a baby, silent and ignored! No one paying attention! Your family will not come to rescue you, because they don't care!"

Maggie shrieked, a loud, long one that rubbed her throat raw and turned her lungs inside out, throwing a punch at her captor. As much as she wanted to deny his rant, he was too right for her to pen-up her anger. Sideshow Bob cursed himself for not bounding and gagging the girl, and turned, swiftly cutting her finger (hurt a child, **unheard of.)**

Maggie cradled her new wound, blood dribbling onto the soft cotton of her daffodil nightgown. There was something amazingly striking about the image, the substance of her childhood, the fabric stretched and worn from nights of pretending beneath the sheets, being splattered with blood. "What is it you really want?" Maggie whispered, unafraid to speak.

Sideshow Bob raised his eyebrows, nearly slamming his enormous foot on the brakes. This little girl, the infant who had played her role with the feeling her siblings lacked, lurking among the shadows, had highlighted the question he had considered over late nights for countless years. What did he really want? Did he want to harm Bart Simpson? Was his wish for Simpson blood to fall?

Maybe he wanted revenge: not on Bart, not on Krusty, not on himself. Sideshow Bob just longed to fill the empty space with violence, the terrible days that blurred and frayed at the edges because they were too horrible to remember. And all left by his father. His father for stealing his virginity. His father for snatching his childhood like a glorified boogeyman. His father . He craved others to suffer, for those with parents and family and protection.

Maggie Simpson had none of the latter. She was sinking below the silhouettes of her siblings, gladly taking the smaller helping with her grin, lips pressed together like she was muffling all of the secrets, the "what-I-did-at-school-todays" that just didn't matter.

The van rolled to a stop, and Maggie saw Sideshow Bob slightly hunched over the steering wheel, his knuckles turning snow-white. She held her breath, kicked open the door, and ran into the night, her bare feet aching and her eyes filled with tears and she turned around to the van like a silent guardian in the street. "I'm…" Maggie didn't have a word to fill her sentence, so it hung suspended in the air, tenderly carted to the van.

"I'm sorry." Her sweet voice filled the vehicle, and Sideshow Bob glanced out the window to the blonde girl in the street, shivering and the pure image of what he had been in his bedroom, afraid to leave. He watched as she disappeared down the road, her receding figure prominent against the moon.

Sideshow Bob stared at the void spot she left in the backseat, and found that her stuffed rabbit, inanimate and lifeless, glared back at him with black, shiny eyes. He carefully picked it up, placed the toy on his dashboard, and pushed down on the gas pedal, driving towards Springfield Penitentiary to turn himself in.


End file.
